


Not A Perfect Soldier

by AvocadoLove



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Experimentation, M/M, Origin Story, Switched characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:51:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Cap 1: AU) The story of how Bucky Barnes became Captain America. It doesn't happen on a train, or from one friend giving his life for another. This time it starts in a lab, with a desperate scientist who thought Bucky was a good man.</p><p>Or,</p><p>"What if Erskine never made it to America?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is more of a 'what if' thought experiment than anything else. It's mostly written out, so expect rapid updates. :)

Bucky twisted in the guard's grip, making his busted ribs scream. He ignored them, and, pulling from down deep, he spat a good one in the bigger guard's face.

He had the satisfaction of seeing the Kraut flush red before he punched Bucky right in the gut.

Wheezing, Bucky doubled over, and the guards used that to finally shove him onto the lab table.

He fought, made them work for every limb they strapped down, because he and the rest of his captured unit had helped bury too many bodies from this place -- twisted things that barely resembled men anymore.

He'd been kept awake too many nights by the faint echo of screaming.

"That all you got?" Bucky raged, not caring if they understood a lick of English. His head was still free and he strained off the table as if to sit up. "I beat bigger in Brooklyn, pal. But you take the cake for ugly."

The guards didn't react other than to tighten the straps.

Bucky leaned back, his heart thundering fit to burst out of his chest. He'd known the moment Dum-Dum's escape plan failed that he was going to die here. The only question was if it was going to be fast, or slow and painful.

Their job done, the guards moved to stand at ease at the other end of the room. Stupid on their part. Only Bucky was pinned like a fly on the table, couldn't move much except fingers and toes and his head a little.

It hurt to breathe deep.

He wasn't kept waiting for long. The lab door opened, and an older man stepped in, clipboard in hand. He was unremarkable: short, balding, and looked exhausted with dark bags under his eyes. There were... ominous stains on his lab coat.

Bucky leveled a sneer at him. "You're the one in charge around here? I gotta say, accommodations are lousy."

A corner of Lab Coat's mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but it was enough to confirm he understood English.

The man stepped to Bucky's side and spoke with a German accent. "You are..." he glanced at the clipboard, but Bucky got the feeling that was for show, "Sergeant James Barnes?"

"What's it to you?"

"I am told you gave the guards quite a bit of trouble. You and your men almost broke through the fencing last night."

Fear spiked through him. "They were under my orders," he lied. "I'm their Sergeant. They did nothing I didn't order them to do."

"Hmm. So you told the Corporal, and took the beating on their behalf." He glanced meaningfully at Bucky's dirty, ripped shirt. "Let me see."

He reached as if to untuck Bucky's shirt. Bucky flinched away as much as his straps would allow. "Keep your mitts to yourself," he snapped.

The look Lab Coat gave him was mildly reproachful. "I will not harm you."

 _Yet_ , Bucky translated. But there was nothing he could do, anyhow. Just stare sullenly up at the grimy rafters while Lab Coat pushed his thready undershirt up and pupated his ribs. Bucky didn't know why he was bothering, maybe to figure out how to torture him better, later.

Well, they weren't going to get a thing from him. Not a damn thing but his name, rank, and serial number.

Lab Coat marked something on his clipboard, then took a stethoscope and listened to his lungs. He made a noise. "At least two cracked ribs, and I do not like your breath sounds. Tell me, are you running a fever, Sergeant?"

Bucky didn't reply, and refused to open his mouth when Lab Coat produced a thermometer.

One of the guards grunted something in German. Lab Coat frowned at him, then glanced at Bucky. "He says there are two ways for me to take your temperature. Trust me, Sergeant. You will not like the second option."

Bucky hesitated, then opened his mouth.

"You are not running a temperature," Lab Coat declared after a moment. He seemed almost disappointed.

"So? Why do you care?"

He did not answer, just noted something else on his clipboard. The guards, too, seemed satisfied that Bucky wasn't getting out anytime soon. They showed themselves out the door.

Lab Coat ducked out of Bucky's line of sight for a couple minutes. He returned with syringe in hand.

 _Here we go_ , Bucky thought, mouth dry. He tensed as Lab Coat stuck him in his upper arm.

"What's that?" Bucky hated the way his voice shook, just a little.

"Penicillin," Lab Coat replied.

Mother Mary, he hoped so.

Bucky licked his lips and he looked around at the lab, the tools with probing ends, the bits and bobs of flesh inside preserved jars. Maybe if he could get the man to think of him as a person, not the enemy, things could go... easier.  

"I get the feeling you and I are gonna get real personal," Bucky said.

Lab Coat met his eyes and there was... something in his gaze. Remorse, maybe? Guilt?

"You could say that. Yes," Lab Coat said.

 "So," Bucky tried, "what do I call you?"

To his surprise, Lab Coat hesitated and glanced over his shoulder at the door as if to make sure the guards were truly gone.

His answer was low, almost a whisper. "My name is Abraham Erskine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments! I'm excited to share this fic with you all. Again, expect rapid updates.

 

On his second day as a lab rat, Bucky saw one of the guards strike Erskine.

He wasn't sure what started it. Erskine had been mixing clear vials, holding one up to the dingy yellow light bulb, frowning, and remixing. He'd been doing it for more than an hour.

Well, he could take as long as he liked as far as Bucky was concerned. He'd already learned the hard way that whatever was in those vials was eventually going into his veins. 

The lab door burst open and two guards strode in, looking uglier than usual. Erskine turned, and the two guards spoke rapidly in German.

Bucky tried to follow -- he caught a word here and there, but the meaning escaped him.

Their body language was tense. Erskine held up his open hands as if to calm them down.

Then the beefier of the guard's hit the older man right between his shoulder blades, driving him down to his knees.

The guard spat something, and Erskine replied with a tired, "Ja."

Erskine waited until the guards left to climb back to his feet. Bucky didn't want to feel sorry for him. This was the man who'd killed a half-dozen soldiers, who was probably going to make Bucky die screaming.

"Trouble in paradise?" Bucky drawled.

"They wish for me to speed up the process." Erskine gingerly rubbed his shoulder. "They do not understand how disastrous that would be."

"You could always switch places with me," Bucky suggested. He patted the table as much as he could with all but his fingers strapped down. "Take a load off."

Erskine crossed the room and began remixing the vials. The fluid was looking clearer now. Bucky had already learned that was a precursor to getting stuck with more needles. He was getting mighty tired of it, and if this kept up, he was going to develop a complex about syringes.

So far, though, if the injections were supposed to _do_ anything, he hadn't noticed.

Then, unexpectedly, Erskine set down a vial and leaned against the table. He let out a heavy sigh. "So many people forget, Sergeant Barnes, that the first country the Nazis invaded was their own."

It took a force of will for Bucky to bite back exactly what he wanted to say, but he couldn't keep all the sarcasm out of his voice as he said, "Tell that to the French."

Erskine glanced over his shoulder. His half smile was fleeting and a bit sad. "After the last war, my people struggled. They felt weak and small. And then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show and the flags. And..." He broke off, shook his head.

Bucky wasn't buying it. "So your people bought in to what Hitler was selling, and now you're here, experimenting on war prisoners. Killin' people."

"That's not exactly--"

"Me and my men buried your other lab experiments from this joint," Bucky snapped. "I hear screaming every night, so don't pretend your hands are clean."

"I am not the only doctor working on Schmidt's _great serum_ ," Erskine replied evenly, and Bucky could practically taste the sarcasm in the last words. Erskine turned, and sure enough he had loaded up another syringe. "But I am the closest to a breakthrough they have. It is why they agreed keep me, and Augsburg, my city, in one piece."

Bucky closed his eyes, fighting off despair. "Swell."

The prick to his shoulder didn't hurt much, though the area was getting a little sore from being stuck over and over.

"Just do me one favor," Bucky said. With his eyes still closed, he sensed Erskine's hesitation. "When you've used me up... don't go after my men next. Most have families." Bald-faced lie, but he didn't care. "They just want to go home."

 _He_ wasn't going home...

... Steve...

There was a brief press to his other shoulder. "I'll do what I can, James."

"Bucky." There actually might be something in this batch because he felt loose and disconnected. "Don't go by James... Name's Bucky..."

"Bucky, then," Erskine repeated, and that was good, because if he thought Bucky as a person... well. Maybe things would go easier. Just like farmers didn't name the cow they were going to slaughter. "And you should know, we are not Nazi's here."

"Yeah?" he asked, feeling floaty.

Erskine quirked his lips. "They call themselves HYDRA. They are... much worse."

 

 

*******

 

 

Whatever Erskine had in the last few rounds of injections had really knocked him for a loop. Sometimes he felt like he was flying, like he'd float right off the table if it weren't for those straps. Maybe over the forest and miles and miles of ocean... if only he could float back to the apartment he shared with Steve.

Steve...

The memories came thick and fast, and so vivid it was like he was there all over again. A real life movie reel in his mind, in color and dazzling.  

... Bucky picking out a ditty on the old piano Mr. Johnson kept in the lobby for company. Singing a silly song 'bout love, and catching Steve's eye...

... Wrestling with Steve over a nub of a pencil. Steve had been up drawing, but this cheeks were rosy with a cold that was going around, and he needed his sleep. Steve's bony elbows caught him in the stomach...

... Summer nights together spent passing a beer bottle back and forth. The taste of Steve's lips, still cold from condensation...

... The shamed look on Steve's face when Bucky came home with his enlistment papers, and Steve showed him his 4F. Didn't he know how important he was to everyone, to Bucky, even if he couldn't fight?...

The times when the injections felt good, Bucky would think as hard as he could: _I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm coming home one way or another, I swear it. Wait for me, Stevie, I'm coming..._

He prayed some way, some how, Steve would hear and understand. That he'd forgive Bucky for lying.

He wasn't coming home.

Then the euphoria would fade, and Bucky would come back to himself, tied down, shivering and shaking so hard the whole table vibrated.

Days... maybe weeks ago, Erskine had remarked that Bucky didn't have a fevor. He didn't, then. He was definitely running one now.

"What're ya doin' to me?" he slurred the last time Erskine had come at him with a needle. Up 'til now, he told himself he didn't want to know, that even asking betrayed weakness.

But he hadn't picked his moment well. The guards had been observing Erskine in the room. Erskine had only looked at Bucky and said nothing.

 _Gonna die here, Stevie_ , he thought. _I'm so sorry._

 

*******


	3. Chapter 3

When Bucky next woke, his throat was on fire. Every breath rattled on the inhale. He coughed dryly, and wondered if this was what Steve felt like during his winter colds.

_I shouldn't have ever let you outside when you were feeling like this, Stevie_... he thought, shivering. The table seemed to sap all the warmth from his body.

Closing his eyes, Bucky tried not to focus on his misery.

He faded in and out, woken by rounds of coughing, and lost track of time. Sometimes he'd swear he'd see his Ma at his bedside, wiping his brow with a cool cloth. Sometimes it would be Steve, cajoling him to get up. Keep going.

He tried talking to them both, but his tongue was thick in his mouth, his lips chapped to bleeding.

Then, as if out of a foggy vision, Erskine appeared. He was speaking, had something in his hands. Two syringes. one blue, one clear.

 "---in preparation for the serum."

"What?" Bucky asked fuzzily. He blinked and the vision of the doctor sharpened, took on depth. Not a hallucination. "What is it?"

He thought he caught a bit of sadness in Erskine’s eyes.  There and gone again. “A choice.” He held up the clear syringe. “I promise it will be very quick, and you will feel no pain. You will simply slip into sleep.”

_Death_ , Bucky translated. He outta feel fear, but he was so tired and sick. He licked his chapped lips. “The… blue?” he rasped.

“This," Erskine held it up, "is the serum. Complete, I hope. It takes all that is in here and magnifies it.” He tapped Bucky’s chest with one finger. “Stronger, fitter, faster, stronger. I’ve spent all this time knocking down your body’s defenses… it would be easier if you were not such a strong man, but…” He shrugged, “Now the serum could slip in and rebuild your body.”

There was something wrong with this. A catch he wasn’t seeing. “Catch?” he rasped.

Erskine nodded and set down the syringe. “It will be painful. Ideally there would be a process… specialized rays to quicken the procedure, but we do not have the means here. It will take hours, perhaps days for the serum to take full effect."

Bucky hadn’t forgotten about the screaming man the other day, or the poor twisted bodies he and the others had been made to carry away and bury. He cleared his throat as best he could. “Why are you giving me a choice?”

“As I said, the procedure is painful. You will need strength in here, you will… want to live.”

Bucky eyed him. “Plenty of guys want to live.”

"You will need more than that. Perhaps... focus on your "Stevie". I hear you calling out for her, and--"

A flare of indignation burned away some of the sick lethargy in his bones. He leaned up as far as the straps would allow. "Don't talk about hi-- Stevie." He caught himself just in time. He wasn't stupid. "Don't mention that name to me. Not from you."

"I am sorry," he said.

Bucky settled back and nodded, taking a breath that had the edge of a wheeze to it. His eyes burned with hulminiation and misery -- Erskine had heard him calling out for Steve, had assumed he was Bucky's sweetheart. Well, he was. But to hear him spoken about now, near the end of the line, cut too deep to bear.

Erskine looked away for a moment. "I am not in the business of creating monsters. The fact that you have loved, that you put yourself between your men and punishment speaks of your character. My serum would give you the power, the _strength_ to escape and save the lives if your men. And if you succeed, I wish to go with you.”

He felt like his mind was spinning. Or maybe he was too sick to understand. “You want to change sides, doc? I don’t know if the brass will want what you’re selling.”

“On the contrary, they’re already working with a man. He’s very dangerous, the Red Skull’s right hand: Arnim Zola. He says he is working for your government, but he is not.. He stole my research, but does not understand it fully. All that has happened to me, he is responsible for.” His hazel eyes flashed, the first bit of passion Bucky had seen from him. "He must be stopped."

So there it was. Bucky honestly wasn’t sure what to think. He and Erskine had come to an understanding, but he didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. At the same time, this choice wasn’t a choice at all. Of course he’d take the serum over death.

“If we get out of here in one piece, I’m taking you with me,” he promised. “I don’t know if the brass will take you in, or throw you in prison.”

Erskine nodded. “It is,” he said, “all I can ask from you.” Then he put the clear syringe of death down and picked up a metal plate full of blue syringes.

Bucky swore.

A sardonic smile crossed Erskine’s face. “Yes.”

 

*******

It hurt.

The pain was… well, Bucky had no doubt _he_ was the one screaming this time. One tiny corner of his mind wished that someone would shove something in his mouth, because if his men heard him…

The rest of him was consumed in fire. His bones felt like they were melting, hot and cold raced through his veins. Every muscle group cramped and split and regrew and cramped again. He gagged on nothing, blood filling his mouth only to swallow clean the next moment.

His skin felt as if it were frying away from his bones. He couldn’t last… he couldn’t.. 

_Steve_ , he cried in his head. Maybe even out loud. It didn’t much matter anymore. Lots of dying men cried for their mothers or for their loves. He held Steve firm in his mind, tried to draw strength as Erskine said.

Romantic as he was, he imagined Steve at the end of a very long tunnel, beckoning to him. And if Bucky didn't make it through he'd wouldn’t see him again. And that was unbearable.

 

*******

 

Someone tapped his cheek. An insistent voice said, “Sergeant, sergeant you must rise. Can you hear me?” A pause, then a tentative, “Bucky?”

_When did I give him my name?_ Bucky thought. Then he remembered. Erskine's anxious face was an inch from his own.

Bucky jerked back in surprise, and something ripped. He lifted his arm. The strap from the table hung off his wrist.

“Well,” Erskine said, “that does answer one question.”

Bucky tugged his other arm. They looked the same to his eye, but the straps came apart like rotten cloth. Sitting up, he took a look around. Across the room was a map – he’d stared at it for hours in the long wait times between injections, but for the first time he noticed little red flags – pins set at different areas up and down Europe. More HYDRA bases?

“Sergeant,” Erskine said urgently as his hand fluttered to take Bucky's pulse at his wrist. “How do you feel?”

For a moment, Bucky wasn’t sure. _Alive_ , he thought. _Good_ , _maybe?_ But he wasn’t so sure of that either.

“Ask me tomorrow,” he said.

“We must leave. The guards will be back soon.”

Bucky would hate himself later for it, but inside he hesitated. Doctor Erskine wanted to escape with him, and Bucky still wasn’t so sure if he could be trusted, but... he'd made a promise. “We’re getting my men out first.”

Erskine nodded. The last of the straps fell away, and his legs were free. Bucky stood. The cuffs of his pants rode up to his ankles. He'd been average height at five-eleven. As insane as it was, he must've gained two, maybe three inches.

Huh. Imagine that.

“The prisoners are being kept this way,” Erskine said, gesturing to a door.

With one last glance at the map across the room, Bucky followed.


End file.
